


Familiar Kind of Sorrow

by AJsregrettabledecisions



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Character Study, Implied Sexual Content, Multi, Present Tense, Referenced Jaskier/Geralt, Referenced Yennefer/Geralt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:08:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27601900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AJsregrettabledecisions/pseuds/AJsregrettabledecisions
Summary: Jaskier and Yennefer, and the ways they understand one another.-A brief character exploration/reflection set post S1, flavoured with Yennskier.
Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	Familiar Kind of Sorrow

**Author's Note:**

> Back from hiatus! Not sure when I'll be working on my major projects and the potential series again, but this is a drabble-esque piece on Yennskier.
> 
> CW: I don't believe there are any major triggers, but alcohol consumption and sex are mentioned.

She looks haggard. Jaskier has never seen the witch in such a state. To any passer-by Yennefer would be just as formidably perfect as always, but Jaskier knows better. Her makeup is flawless, but it’s simple. Her dress is magnificent, but she’s one petticoat shy of having the skirt filled properly. Her jewellery is expensive, but she’s not bothered with rings. Her eyes are just as bright, as haunting, as always, but there’s something tight in their corners, echoed at the edges of her lips.

Yennefer settles opposite the booth from him. He could snap at her – gods knew that Jaskier had an arsenal of scathing remarks reserved specifically for her. But in her posture, and her barely-perceptible disarray, he sees himself.

“Bard.”

It’s not a greeting, just an acknowledgement. They’ve never been the sort to exchange idle pleasantries. No _how are you?_ s or _what brings you here?_ s. It’s strange she doesn’t bother with an insult, even if she looks too worn to try. How hard must it be, Jaskier wonders, to defy djinn magic and Destiny.

“Yennefer.”

Perhaps returning the acknowledgement with her name is more personal than they’re used to, but it’s a quiet kind of reassurance. _I see you. I understand,_ is what it says. Jaskier knows it was right when he sees some of the tension leak from her shoulders. A wave of her hand has a pair of ornate goblets appearing before them, along with a bottle of a Redanian red. Jaskier’s favourite. He wondered how she knew – if she even did, or if she was guessing based on the hint of a Redanian lilt he’d never quite escaped.

He pours their first round, and waits. Truth be told, Jaskier is as tired as she is, but isn’t wearing it nearly as well. His music has excelled despite it; heartbreak is an excellent muse, despite its brutality. It’s that brutality that has found him as he is now. Unkempt, with a quickly flourishing beard and hastily donned clothing. His shirt doesn’t even match his doublet and trousers; six months ago, Jaskier would have been appalled at himself.

Their first glasses go in silence. The hum of noise in the inn is pleasant, but Jaskier can see that he and Yennefer are separate. Theirs something glazed in the eyes of those whose gaze passes over them, as though they know something is there but cannot understand it. Her magic, then.

“He sent you away.”

Jaskier’s not surprised at her conversation topic. Why else would she be here? Of course she knew; she wouldn’t be here if Geralt was, and had no reason to contact the bard except him. What could Jaskier possibly offer her except to talk about the witcher? He shrugged in response.

“You were never fated to him.”

No, Jaskier wasn’t. And that was just it – who was Jaskier? In his own right, he was someone. Continent-renowned bard. Sure, that came in part from Geralt, but some of his most famous songs had nothing to do with the witcher. Independent of Geralt and the Path, Jaskier had his own story. But there, beside him? Who was he?

Jaskier was not Destined to cross paths with him. Jaskier was no great power – not a soldier or a mage or a monster. Not a victim of something that needed destroying, and while yes, Jaskier had been a medium which led to Geralt’s Destiny, without the bard things still would have occurred the same way.

He’d heard, after Pavetta’s betrothal, that Mousesack had already been seeking a witcher for a drowner problem near the castle grounds. That he had heard Geralt was nearby, but hadn’t bothered to send for him when the druid had learned that he was accompanying Jaskier and would end up there anyways. Doubtless, without Jaskier, Mousesack would have hired Geralt and dragged him to the feast in thanks, and then Geralt still would have ended up with a Child Surprise.

Likewise, Yennefer. Geralt’s sleep troubles came on their own, without Jaskier’s presence. The witcher would have sought the djinn and had the magic backfire on himself, rather than Jaskier, and would still have needed to seek the mage. They’d have met the same way, and fucked the same way, and ended up screwed over by the djinn the same way.

It was how Jaskier reassured himself. He could trace back through the entirety of his history with Geralt and find ways in which _every_ major event would have occurred even without Jaskier there. It _wasn’t_ his fault. Jaskier was… he was a nobody, untouched by Destiny, with no serious role in Geralt’s life beyond that of _friend_. But that had been unnecessary. Valued, sometimes, but overall unnecessary. Jaskier’s presence or absence was inconsequential to Destiny, and Geralt, it seemed, believed he would have been better off with Jaskier’s absence.

“No, I’m not.”

He didn’t need to answer; Jaskier knows she has seen all the things he has only just realised in the time since the dragon hunt. Yennefer knew all along. Maybe she even envied that – his choice. He _chose_ to follow the witcher, and to live on the Path, and to make his own way. There was nothing forcing him to do it; no life determined for him before he was even conceived.

Yennefer sighed at his reply, pouring their next round.

“He never appreciated you.”

“That’s not true.”

“Maybe not,” Yennefer sighed, “But he never loved you.”

“I know.”

“Then why did you follow him?”

It’s a good question. He could pass it off easily enough. Jaskier has done much to aid his fame, and at first, Geralt had been just that. He might even be able to get away with lying to Yennefer; telling her he suffered his own emotions for the sake of notoriety. But that wouldn’t be the truth. She deserved better than to be lied to about this.

“Because it was enough. Loving. I can love without needing to be loved back.”

She was quiet then. Her gaze was locked on her goblet, and she sipped idly.

“You’re not even allowed that, now.”

“No. It seems I’m not.”

Yennefer refilled their glasses, and Jaskier downed the offered drink too quickly to be smart. She wasn’t far behind him.

“You wanted to be loved back, though, didn’t you, bard?”

“Of course I did. Who doesn’t? But that was not who we were – who Geralt is. I’m not… I’m not his Destiny.”

Yennefer’s face screwed up at the word _Destiny._ Jaskier couldn’t help the smile that twitched onto his face, though it dropped just as quickly at her next words.

“Would you have wished it? If the djinn _had_ been yours, would you have wished it?” Yennefer asked. Her eyes were serious, her expression grave. Jaskier could feel the weight of it; could understand how much more she was asking.

_Would you have made him love you? If you had that power, would you use it for what you want? Do you think he had the right to do that to me? Was I wrong to turn him away for it?_

“No. It wouldn’t be love, like that. It would be a lie, and it would leave us both suffering.”

Something releases in her then, tension fleeing her body. Yennefer slouching, hunched over, curled around a goblet – once, it would have been a sight he mocked. Now, he just echoed her, pouring their next round. They drink in silence, each alone with their own thoughts.

“Wanna fuck?” Yennefer asked, sometime around their seventh cups. Jaskier snorted out a laugh, he couldn’t help it.

“Why not?” he grins. It's stupid – gods is it stupid. But they were both drunk enough, and lonely enough, and there is a certain connection between those who suffer the same pain. So, they do, Yen dragging him through a portal to lodgings far nicer than he had planned on.

It’s surprisingly… tender, isn’t quite right, but there is a softness to it. Jaskier’s seen the marks she’s left on Geralt; knows through him that she likes it rough and hard and sinful. But the press of her hands is gentle, and the warmth of her skin inviting, and there is nothing punishing about the way she pushes him down. There are no nails when she tugs off his shirt, and no bite as she runs her lips down the side of his neck.

He takes his cues from her – it’s easier that way. Jaskier isn’t fussy. He’ll take hard and rough or soft and sweet and anything in between. It’s strange, no matter what it is, because he’s sharing it with _Yennefer_ of all people. But his touch is just as kind as hers; just as warm, as he runs his fingers through her hair and presses kisses along her jaw.

There’s a catharsis in it. Its hard to hate someone who was screwed over just as badly as you were by the same man. Harder still to hate someone as you feel their empathy through their touch; as you strive to provide the same for them. It's hard not to want to hold someone who shares the same sorrow; to do so is validating, liberating.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! My tumblr is mostly minimal action currently but I should be picking up again there too. Find me under the same name!  
> Please let me know of any typos or nonsense sentences, and toss a kudo if you enjoyed!


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